Dean
by animalisticigus
Summary: Ron never gets it.
1. Default Chapter

Meeting on the Hogwart's Express…fighting a troll…wandering into the Chamber of Secrets…meeting Sirius Black…

Didn't they say your life flashed before your eyes before you died? This was surely a sign of some sort, his entire friendship with Harry was flashing before his eyes. This was so dead. This was deader than dead. This was deader than Hagrid's Flobberworms engorged with lettuce, and that was really dead. Ron fiddled morosely with his shirt collar as Harry regained the gift of coherent speech.

"Ron…What the FUCK…were you_doing _with DEAN?" Harry's hands were shuddering angrily in a very Dursley-like manner, and the look on his face was of utter miserable disbelief.

"Aghaurggh…um…Dean was just…we were- " Ron found that when one is frightened enough, one's tongue can enlarge to three times its normal size, which was surely the most fascinating discovery ever made.

"No! Stop…I_know_ what you were DOING. What..when..WHY! Just _why_?" Apparently the weight of Harry's body was too much for him at the moment, and he fell onto his bed, ripping the hangings in the process.

Ron stilled, knowing that his next sentence would be the end of a friendship, and also wondering how Harry could have notfigured it out by now. "I suppose…I suppose I like boys…more than one would presu-"

"No! SHUT UP! What I mean is – WHY? Why DEAN? Don't you think that maybe there are WORTHIER candidates?" Harry looked at Ron, curiosity finally outweighing anger in his eyes.

Ron wondered, terrified, what the hell Harry was going on about, but decided that this was not really an appropriate question. Then again, the answer to Harry's question seemed just as unsuitable a thing to say. "Well…Dean's pretty. Um, pretty nice. He's- I mean, I thought you liked him too, well, in a friendly way. Er-"

"Yes. Dean's terrific. Bloody hell, you never _get it_, Ron." With that, Harry turned and stalked out, slamming the dormitory door behind him, and leaving Ron sitting with a puzzled expression on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione had just finished her schoolwork for the night. Or morning, for surely it was past midnight already. Either way, Hermione was just getting comfy with her new book, _Incredibly Complex Spells and How To Use Them_, when a loud noise interrupted her enjoyable reading time.

"BLOODY HELL!"

Hermione glanced up. This was not a favorable condition for reading, surely, but Hermione was one of the best out there, and had adapted to her noisy, annoying, common room climate. She had only voluntarily relinquished her focus. This was due to the fact that the loud noise she had heard was none other than Harry yelling (which was quite a familiar noise by now, if she may say so herself).

He was over by the fireplace, having just kicked the stone mantel (hard, judging by the way he was hopping around in pain). Harry didn't seem to notice Hermione, apparently to preoccupied with his own thoughts.

She coughed to draw attention to herself (just the right amount of attention, so that he could decide if he wished to really 'notice' her, or move to a more private location).

Harry chose the noticing option. Treading over with long strides, he didn't wait to arrive at her armchair before enlightening her.

"Hermione, am I a closed book?"

She sighed and closed her own book.

"No, Harry, you're completely see-through." _Obviously, he wears his emotions on his red and gold sleeve._

Harry frowned for a moment, as if this was not the answer he had anticipated. Appearing to come to terms with it pretty quickly, he spoke up.

"You're bloody well right I am. I'm a tissue. I'm tracing paper. I'm glass. I'm saran wrap!"

"Your point?" Said Hermione, brusquely. She didn't really mean to sound crabby, but she had reached a _focal point_ in that book!

Harry scowled again. "My point _is_, 'Mione, that Ron doesn't understand anything."

Realizing what this was about, Hermione looked Harry in the eyes.

"I could have told you that."

Harry sighed, looking disgruntled. "I just don't know. I don't know what to _do._"

Hermione smiled for a moment, because when The Boy Who Lived didn't know what do, things just seemed to work out for him.

"I know what you can do. You can tell him…"

"Tell him what?"

"…tell him that you _like him_, Harry."

Harry glared.

"You know it's true. He won't understand, otherwise. How bad can it be, Harry?"

Harry's expression changed from 'angry' to 'discontent'.

"Really bad, Hermione. I could lose my best friend."

Hermione stood up, packing away her books and parchment.

"You could get something else, too."

She began to climb the stairs to the girl's dormitory, and this time it was Harry who was left sitting behind.


End file.
